


"Does That Make Me Special?" - Missing Scenes From A Scandal In Belgravia: How Irene Came To Wear The Dressing Gown

by akajustmerry



Series: Missing Scenes From A Scandal In Belgravia [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/M, Minor Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, POV Irene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akajustmerry/pseuds/akajustmerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The following work is part of my collection of Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes fan-fic prompts titled collectively "Missing Scenes From A Scandal In Belgravia" that are set during/after/in between the canon events of  A Scandal In Belgravia and concerns how Irene came to be wearing Sherlock's dressing gown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Does That Make Me Special?" - Missing Scenes From A Scandal In Belgravia: How Irene Came To Wear The Dressing Gown

**Sherlock had felt a surprising range of emotions upon seeing Irene Adler asleep in his bed. Satisfaction being the strongest and least expected of  all of them.**

"Oh, please," John’s whisper had a hint of amusement, "Wipe that smile off your face and wake her up, will you? Clearly, we have work to do."

"Me?" Sherlock whispered back defensively, he  hadn’t realized he had been smiling. An odd sensation gnawed at Sherlock’s insides, "Why do I have to wake her up?"  _  
_

"Because, she’s your girlf-!" Irene stirred, Sherlock felt a nerve twitch near his eye, John quickly corrected himself, "She’s your client - or whatever the hell she is - but at any rate, she’s in your bed." John left the room before Sherlock could protest. Though, with six months since their last meeting, he had to admit he wasn’t feeling entirely unpleasant at the prospect of being left alone with the Woman. 

Sherlock stood for a few minutes, watching her back rise and fall with her breath as she slept. So vulnerable, he could easily leave her asleep and call Mycroft. He knew he should. But as he listened to her breathing, watched the waves of her dark brown hair play across her face, the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew more pronounced and the strangest thought danced at the edge of Sherlock’s mind. That he didn’t want anyone to know she was here.

Sherlock wasn’t sure why, but in that moment he watched her, a part of him understood how people could look at other people and call them beautiful.

"John’s gone, you can stop pretending to be asleep now. Breathing in the REM cycle is rhythmic but it isn’t as precise and even as 4 seconds per inhale and exhale."

"I wasn’t pretending. At least, I wasn’t until I was rudely awoken by arguing." Irene opened her eyes, a smile curling her lips as she saw him. Sherlock ignored his heart as it slammed into his ribs,

"Yes, sorry," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "My hospitality skills are out of practice when it comes to dominatrixes who have lied about their deaths for convenience." Irene sat up and stretched lazily as she swung her legs over the side of the bed,

"Oh, Sherlock. You’re not still hung up on that?" she said, playfully.

"Grudges are useful. They ensure you never forget what a person truly is." Irene got up and walked slowly over to him. Sherlock was still, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, though they were slippery with sweat.

"And what am I, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" she ran a finger up his chest, "A liar?" her fingers left the fabric of his shirt as they reached his neck and began tracing his jawline.

Sherlock sucked in his breath, the touch of her skin sending shocks through his body he had only ever experienced when he was high. Though this was something far more terrifying and infinitely more pleasurable than anything opium could inspire.

"You are a fugitive." he managed to breathe, her face was inches from his. She chuckled, drawing her hand away from his cheek and stood on tiptoe so her lips were level with his so that Sherlock felt the breath of the next words she spoke on his lips,

"I believe the word you used was ‘beautiful’" Sherlock blinked, opening and closing his mouth in surprise. He wasn’t aware he had said that out loud. Irene smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she had rendered upon him. "Where’s the bathroom?" she asked, suddenly. Sherlock stammered slightly,

"F-first door on the left." She winked at him before making her way down the hallway. Sherlock waited until he heard the sound of the bathroom door slamming and the water of the shower running before he joined John in the living room. John looked up from his laptop,

"She awake?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. She’s taking a shower." John was smiling,

"Funny."

"What is?"

"There are two beds in this apartment. She knew which one was yours." Sherlock sighed,

"Your point being?"

"She’s been here before. More specifically when you were in bed, asleep. If you were sleeping, of course." 

"What else would I have been doing?" Sherlock avoided looking at John though he knew he was grinning. Then, as if the universe’s soul aim was to test him. The bathroom door opened and Irene Adler reappeared, her hair damp, soaking wet and, for the second time in the time they had known her, wearing absolutely nothing. John leaped out of his seat.

"Jesus Christ! Would you-?"

"No need to blush, Dr, Watson," she drawled, "It’s not like its anything you haven’t seen before. My apologies, in fact. Being dead means I travel with less fashion choices."

"You had clothes on when you came here" John said, staring at the ceiling.

"I’d been wearing them for three days" she said, simply.

"Here" Sherlock had appeared behind her, holding up what John knew to be his second favorite grey blue dressing gown. No one had noticed he’d left the room.

"Ever the gentleman, Mr. Holmes." she said, looking up at him as she slipped her arms through the sleeves. Sherlock’s fingers brushing her shoulders as he let his dressing gown fall onto them. He knew he should hate the idea of someone other than himself wearing his clothes. Instead, he found an odd sense of satisfaction curling his lips into the slightest of smiles as Irene Adler turned to  face him wearing his dressing gown. 

"You know, Mr. Holmes, I think you’re the only person whom I enjoy putting clothes  _on_ me.” her eyes never left Sherlock’s and was minutes before he spoke.

"Does that make me special?" he asked, holding her gaze.

"Maybe" she teased. John cleared his throat loudly. Sherlock tore his eyes away from hers to look at him.

"If you two are done? Maybe, we could get to the whole ‘fugitive on the run because of a bloody camera phone business’?" Sherlock wondered why John sounded both amused and slightly irritated.

 Irene was smirking, Sherlock indicated the chair his clients usually took  to her, “Please.” he insisted. Instead, Irene proceeded to curl up on the chair that Sherlock usually occupied. John raised his eyebrows at him but Sherlock assumed the usual client seat, too busy observing the Woman to take notice,

"Sherlock?" 

"Right- yes." He was still staring at her as she was watching him. Though, Sherlock saw her hands flinch, nervously. The gnawing in the pit of his stomach lessening slightly at the sight of her restless fingers.

It was then that Sherlock made the decision that he would certainly not be ringing his brother to alert him of her presence at 221b.

**Author's Note:**

> All prompts are originally published on my tumblr: snogboxez.tumblr.com  
> Wanna chat about my writing? letzplaymurder.tumblr.com


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